


Curious

by MoonRiver



Series: Adopted [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Couch Sex, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multi, Porn, Sexual Content, Suit Porn, non-con elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 14:46:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonRiver/pseuds/MoonRiver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We’re not brothers,” Mycroft whispered.</p><p>He inched closer, and Sherlock completely froze up. </p><p>“No,” Sherlock swallowed, “we’re not.”</p><p>They scooted even closer.</p><p>“No blood relation whatsoever.”</p><p>“None.”</p><p>“Curious-“</p><p>Their lips were so close that Sherlock trembled.</p><p><em>Wrong wrong wrong!</em> His mind shouted, even as his heart pounded and his body screamed <em>yes yes yes!</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Curious

“Jesus _fuck_!”

Sherlock grinned to himself at the sound of his older brother’s voice. He kept his eyes glued to his magazine, not daring to look away as Mycroft Holmes stormed through the front door of their flat.

“Oh joy,” Sherlock remarked dryly. “Mycroft managed to make it home for the holidays. Whatever would we have done without him?”

“Shut the fuck up!” Mycroft warned, punching the wall as he thundered through the sitting room. “Just shut up!”

“Alright, I’m shut!”

He lowered the magazine enough to observe his brother, who was now pacing back and forth while running his hands furiously through his cropped red hair. Sherlock frowned. Mycroft looked different than when he last saw him- sometime around September. His new job supposedly took him all around Europe, and the travel certainly was wearing him down. He looked as though he gained a few pounds, possibly out of stress eating or trying new kinds of foods. At the same time he still wore the same suit he was given as a graduation present, and as far as Sherlock could tell it was one of the only suits he owned. The fabric was wearing thin, the buttons were stretched too far, but the navy blue still matched perfectly with his hair-

“She left me!” Mycroft suddenly exclaimed. He jabbed his fingers toward himself, as though proving a point. “ _She_ didn’t want to be with _me_!”

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock teased:

“No one wants to hear about your women troubles, Mycroft.”

He flinched as Mycroft suddenly stormed over him. His overweight body hovered above him, and Sherlock swallowed, clutching the magazine close to his chest.

“I am _so_ glad we’re not actually related,” Mycroft spat. “I couldn’t imagine having to call someone as pathetic and slimy and pitiful as _you_ a brother. You’re a lazy, ungrateful, disgrace. Look at you, sitting on your arse at three in the afternoon in the middle of the week!”

“I’m on holiday!” Sherlock exclaimed. “Or have you forgotten those?”

“Yes, I have!” Mycroft roared. “Because all I’ve done for the past five months is work sixty hours a week while you lay on your arse and read-“

Sherlock gasped as the magazine was ripped from his hands, and he froze. Why hadn’t he hid it as soon as Mycroft entered? How could he be so stupid?

“Pictures of naked men?” Mycroft breathed.

Both their faces went pale as Mycroft’s voice fell. He thrust the magazine back at Sherlock, who caught it with trembling hands.

“I can explain-“

“You’re just looking at that on the sofa, right in the middle of the bloody flat?” Mycroft shouted. “That’s disgusting, Sherlock! That’s pure, filth-“

“I’m sure it’s no worse than what you were doing with your girlfriend!” Sherlock cried, pushing himself up a bit from the sofa. “Or was she too grossed out from all your body fat?”

A hand smacked across his face, and Sherlock yelped. The smack knocked him back hard. It was enough to make his head go all funny and his eyes close at the pain. It was the hit of someone who was used to hitting someone- through this so called “business job” Mycroft took after Uni. He lifted a palm to his cheek and lifted his eyes up to Mycroft, who was completely in shock.

“I’m sorry,” Mycroft whispered. “Sherlock, I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Sherlock whispered, swallowing hard.

“Sherlock, please-“

“I don’t want to talk to you!” He hissed, struggling to lift himself from the couch.

He clutched the magazine in one hand and fought off Mycroft with the other.

“Mycroft, stop!” He exclaimed when his _non-brother_ grabbed his arm.

“Sherlock, I’m sorry!”

“Then _stop hurting me_!”

His eyes watered, and he hated how pathetic and whiny he sounded. But it was like this every time he got into a fight. Mycroft had never actually hit him before because all through growing up in the Holmes’ home there was always one rule his adopted mother made sure was enforced: _don’t hit Sherlock_ , but he had been in plenty of fights at school. Each time was harder to deal with than the next, and Mycroft _never_ understood.

He gasped as memories flooded back to him, first as gasps of pain then as drops of tears-

“Sherlock, please, it’s alright!” Mycroft called in the background.

Eyes closed, Sherlock shook his head, trying to erase all the bad thoughts away-

“Sherlock!”

Mycroft was tugging at his arm, which wasn’t helping. He felt like he was suffocating-

“Deep breaths, okay?” Mycroft said softly.

Cold hands ran up and down his arms, and he just couldn’t grasp that those were the same hands that just hurt him. He shuddered and fought away, and Mycroft let him go. At last he opened his eyes again with a sharp grasp and looked around.

“Deep breaths,” Mycroft said again.

Their foreheads were inches apart, and Mycroft was breathing deeply as well. His hands lingered by Sherlock’s side and he couldn’t stop shivering at the thought of being this close to him. Mycroft was practically leaning over him, but in a gentle, comforting way this time.

“I’m sorry,” Mycroft whispered, fighting away his own tears. “I’m just…stressed, okay?”

“You smoke,” Sherlock announced, sniffing his adopted brother’s breath.

Mycroft nodded.

“And drink?” Sherlock asked. Mycroft stared at him, as though wishing with all his might Sherlock hadn’t asked that. “Do you? Mycroft?! You know-“

“I do, alright!” Mycroft snapped. “I just…I’m just a mess. I’m stressed out, more stressed out than I ever thought I could be because this job, this _job_ is completely mad. I have to do things that I never thought I could do, and people are asking me to do them. Just asking me, like it’s nothing and-“

“I thought you were in international business?” Sherlock frowned.

A helpless grin sank across Mycroft’s face.

“I’m not.”

They looked at each other, breathing deeply. Their eyes were just inches away, and god Sherlock could figure out _everything_ from here. Mycroft wasn’t sleeping. He wasn’t eating properly. He was having sex- probably too much- until this girlfriend of his broke up with him. He was probably using her as his only hope from going insane. He hated himself for taking this job and at the same time he was transfixed by it and its opportunities.

“I’m sorry,” Mycroft whispered again.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not, it’s not okay.”

Drawing in a deep breath, Mycroft leaned back a bit, giving them both room to breathe. The air felt thinner and he felt better as he was left to his own side of the sofa, but at the same time he longed for that closeness again.

“You can tell Mother,” Mycroft offered.

“No,” Sherlock shook his head, “you were upset-“

“That’s not an excuse!” Mycroft’s eyes flashed to him, disappointed. “Don’t you see, Sherlock? That’s not an excuse. Christ, don’t you think I have some kind of idea of what you went through as a kid? You don’t make excuses for that. Here-“

Mycroft carefully tugged the magazine away from him, and he grinned.

“You really shouldn’t be reading this in the middle of the flat, though.” Mycroft said. “Go to the bedroom, like the rest of the world does.”

Sherlock looked down, cheeks reddening in embarrassment.

“You’re there.”

Mycroft looked up at them. Suddenly they were close again, Mycroft’s hot breath falling on his face.

“What?” Mycroft asked quietly.

“I just-“ Sherlock looked away, blinking rapidly. How had he gotten himself so in over his head so soon?

And then it happened.

“We’re not brothers,” Mycroft whispered.

He inched closer, and Sherlock completely froze up. His fists lingered awkward against the sofa cushions after letting the magazine fall.

“No,” Sherlock swallowed, “we’re not.”

They scooted even closer.

“No blood relation whatsoever.”

“None.”

“Curious-“

Their lips were so close that Sherlock trembled.

 _Wrong wrong wrong!_ His mind shouted, even as his heart pounded and his body screamed _yes yes yes!_

At last their lips met, and Sherlock’s palms pressed down firmly against the sofa to keep himself from falling back. The kiss was awkward at first; he wasn’t quite sure what he should be doing, and Mycroft seemed so in shock that he simply froze.

Then they both gasped, and the kiss really started.

Mycroft’s tongue pried his lips open, and Sherlock whimpered a bit as it dove into his mouth. It was a strange feeling, and it sent him into shock for a moment. His whole body shook as the tongue roamed his mouth, and Mycroft grabbed a hold of his arms, as though sensing he were about to fall apart.

“Mycroft,” he whispered when they broke apart again.

Instead of answering, Mycroft simply panted as he tried to breathe again. Their eyes danced around to avoid each other, and Sherlock was torn between wanting to do it all over again and making a run for the door.

That’s when Mycroft began to gently lower him down, and his body went into panic mode. He tensed up and closed his eyes, trying to hide the anxiety ripping him apart as Mycroft’s hands brushed lightly up and down his arms. His back knotted up as he was pressed into the sofa. His legs turned to jelly and his neck ached as it bore into the armrest at an awkward ankle.

Mycroft never seemed to notice.

Before he had a second to breathe their lips were together again, and Sherlock decided it would be easiest to just give in and let Mycroft take charge. Their loud pants echoed across the room, and Mycroft’s warm breath fluttered across his skin each time his lips parted. A violent, exotic, moan escaped the man pressed against him, and his mind reeled with the realization of _oh god, Mycroft’s enjoying this._

A bitter, angry thought hit him in return: _so why aren’t I?_

“Sherlock?” Mycroft murmured above him. His lips brushed against Sherlock’s face, and his first moan of the night escaped him. Cold shivers ran up and down his body. Despite the fact they were both fully clothed, he could feel himself getting hard as Mycroft’s cock brushed against his. “Stop thinking so much.”

Sherlock squirmed as Mycroft pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses down his cheek, his chin, and his neck. Hands rest on his chest now, pushing at his nipples just enough to make the discomfort feel _good_. One hand snaked down to his buckle, and his eyes went wide when Mycroft undid his belt loop.

“Mycroft-“ he warned, gripping the man’s back.

“It’s okay,” Mycroft cooed softly. “This feels good.”

He was sure Mycroft wasn’t trying to sound as creepy and intimidating as he came across, but Sherlock told himself he was just overreacting himself. Lips continued to suck at his neck as Mycroft finished working on the belt and went onto his trousers. Their eyes finally met again as Mycroft silently asked for his permission. Sherlock froze, his heart pounded violently as his hands rested around his head, and he nodded.

Mycroft scooted down so that his face was level with his chest. As he undid the first button his other hand brushed against Sherlock’s shirt, lifting it so that he had access to his navel. Sherlock shuddered, and his fluttered close as Mycroft sucked at the skin there, and when fingers finally closed in around his clothed cock his back arched off the sofa.

Eyes traveled up to him as he landed on the sofa again, and Sherlock gulped. The skin of Mycroft’s neck was already flushed, and at some point he had loosened his shirt collar and undid the first button. Fingers rubbed gently against his cock, and Sherlock whimpered. Mycroft let out a long, raspy, breath before taking his lips once again to Sherlock’s navel and trailing all the way up to his nipples.

“Oh!” Sherlock grasped as the mouth closed around one nipple, then the other.

Meanwhile Mycroft’s hand toyed with his cock, rubbing his shaft in soothing stroked through his pants. Without asking this time, Mycroft reached down and pulled his trousers just past his hips, and Sherlock let him. He leaned up, their chests meeting as his trousers were pulled down all the way. His hands held tightly onto Mycroft’s back, and he gasped as he was suddenly sitting in just his underwear and t-shirt. Mycroft reached for his shirt again, but this time he had to protest. When Sherlock’s hands fell on his, Mycroft looked up, realizing for the first time that something was wrong.

“Just… _please_ ,” he pleaded, not really sure what to ask.

Mycroft nodded, seeming to understand. For a moment they sat like that, straddled against each other, arms wrapped around each other, and they simply rocked together. Mycroft’s eyes fluttered shut this time, and he rutted against Sherlock a little harder. Sherlock groaned at the friction, and it wasn’t long before Mycroft laid him down again. He left his shirt alone as his hand wondered into the waistband of his pants, and Sherlock shuddered as cold, bare, hands felt up his cock.

“Oh,” he whispered softly.

“Mmm,” Mycroft moaned.

With Mycroft’s face pressed into his shoulder, Sherlock’s eyes glued to a spot on the sitting room wall. It felt wrong, all of a sudden, to be doing this in the home he’d grown up with during the past eight years.

His hands were sweaty from clinging to Mycroft’s back, and he tried to not think of the strangeness of being taken over by a fully-clothed man. Mycroft’s suit was getting wrinkled, but he didn’t seem to mind as he rocked against him. His hand stroked up and down Sherlock’s cock, and suddenly his pants were being pushed down as well.

“Sherlock,” Mycroft groaned against his neck. _“Oh.”_

 _“Oh!”_ Sherlock echoed, grasping Mycroft’s back.

New feelings were suddenly rushing through him. His cock was getting harder and harder, and his panting was becoming more and more desperate. His body was so tense he felt he might break, and he needed a release _now_.

“Mycroft!” He warned, voice strangled as he struggled against the heavy body on top of him.

 _“Sherlock!”_ Mycroft moaned in return, clueless as to what Sherlock asking.

“Oh-oh god!”

He thrust upward against Mycroft’s stroking as he came. Eyes closed, Sherlock erupted into a series of uncontrollable gasps and groaned as Mycroft groped him harder, making him come all over his hand and suit.

“Oh- _oh_!” When he finally finished still, breathless, and slowly peeled his eyes open.

Mycroft’s pupils were blown wide as he looked up to him. He looked trapped, puzzled, for a moment as though realizing something was wrong.

“Sherlock,” Mycroft trembled.

He took Sherlock’s hand in his and suddenly lifted him up.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Sherlock stammered.

His whole body shook again, reeling with the aftermath of his orgasm. It felt… _nice_. Nice in a way that he couldn’t even explain. But Mycroft looked completely on edge, like he might shatter into pieces if he didn’t get the same treatment and soon.

“Come on!” Mycroft barked hoarsely.

Suddenly the passionate nature of their affair dwindled away, and his heart pumped violently as Mycroft dragged him into their bedroom.

As soon as the door shut, Mycroft pressed him back against the door and kiss him hard.

“Mycroft,” he whimpered.

He wanted a moment- just a moment- to take in what happened before he went at it again. He understood that it was only fair that he offered Mycroft the same release, but he was just so overwhelmed with the pleasure running through him and the shock riddling him senseless that it was hard to think clearly.

Mycroft quickly rid himself of his suit jacket and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt. He pulled his cock out of his trousers but didn’t bother undressing fully before tearing away to dig around in his dresser drawer.

“Has that always been there?” Sherlock said with a gasp as Mycroft pulled out a bottle of lube. “And shouldn’t we-“

“I haven’t actually had sex in longer than I care to admit,” Mycroft murmured. “And you?”

He shook his head quickly, hoping he wouldn’t interrogate him about it. Sherlock moaned as he was pressed against his door, his hands flat against the wood as Mycroft placed his hands on his arse.

“Mye-“ he stammered.

But there was no talking sense to him by now. Lips pressed roughly against his neck and shoulders as Mycroft lubed up his hand, and Sherlock gasped when a warm finger rubbed over his cleft.

“Oh!” He moaned. The finger inched its way inside his arse as Mycroft’s other hand held his cheeks open. “Ugh…oh… _uh_! Ah! _Mycroft!_ ”

Mycroft breathed in deeply and kissed his shoulder, and Sherlock realized the sounds were only pushing him further. His cheeks jiggled as Mycroft rubbed and patted them. Soon a second finger pressed into him, and Sherlock _moaned_. Already he could feel himself getting hard again, and his cock bounced with excitement at all the new sensations and feelings.

More lube, and a third finger pressed in.

“Ah- _gah_!” He exclaimed, wiggling at the intrusion. “Mycroft!”

He wished he had something sturdier to hold onto than the door as Mycroft’s fingers worked him open roughly.

“Fuck!” He muttered, looking behind himself to helplessly watch what was happening to him.

“Oh god!” Mycroft gasped. “Jesus…fuck!”

Hearing the exclamation come from Mycroft because of _him_ sent shivers up his spine, and his cock perked up fully with interest.

“Mycroft,” he gasped, grasping at the door. “Can we…bed?”

He whimpered when the fingers suddenly pulled out of him, and Mycroft’s hands instead wrapped around his arms and led him to the bed.

“Come here,” Mycroft murmured, sitting down on the bed first.

He pulled Sherlock down so that he was sitting on his laps, back facing him. He circled his hips, testing out the new position, and Mycroft erupted into desperate moans behind him. Sherlock shuddered at the feeling of the cock circling against his arse. When Mycroft stilled he decided to return the favor, his own arse dancing in circles.

“Oh yes!” Mycroft groaned, his hot breath panting against his neck. “ _Yes_ , Sherlock!”

He circled his hips again, and Mycroft laid them both back against the mattress. They were on Mycroft’s bed, leaving Sherlock’s twin bed to sit abandoned on the other side of the room. Mycroft lowered his pants and trousers just past his hips, and Sherlock gasped as he felt Mycroft’s cock touch his arse for the first time. He couldn’t see it, but it felt _huge_ , and a moment of panic rushed through him once again.

The hard shaft rubbed against him, teasing open his hole once again.

“Is this okay?” Mycroft asked. “Is it good?”

Sherlock nodded, unsure what else to do. Mycroft grabbed each of his hands and held them tightly against his chest. One left him for a fleeting moment and dashed beneath his arse, grabbing the cock there and lining them up.

Then it began.

Mycroft’s hips thrusts up in a slow, gentle, rythm. He had no idea he himself would get so hard again so quick, but just fifteen minutes after he last came and he was ready to burst again. He didn’t understand how Mycroft was able to hold it together for so long, but just as he wondered he began to thrust against his arse in earnest.

It was weird, being on top of Mycroft as they did this.

“Oh GOD!” Mycroft exclaimed.

Apparently it wasn’t weird for him.

“Fuck!” Mycroft hissed, throwing his back against the bed violently as his hips thrust up. “Oh shit, Sherlock! _Shit_.”

“Mycroft!” He whimpered, desperate again for relief.

He grabbed his own cock this time, stroking it up and down just like he was used to.

“Yeah,” Mycroft mumbled against his neck. He kissed the skin there and growled again: “ _Yeah._ Come on, Sherlock.”

“ _Mycroft_.”

His heart was pounding so violently he was afraid it might leap out of his chest, and when he felt Mycroft’s cock stiffened inside him he screamed so loudly he thought he might burst into pieces.

“Yes!” Mycroft cried. “Yes, YES!”

“Mycroft!” He stammered. “ _Oh!_ ”

hips absolutely pounded against him. Suddenly Sherlock was rolled onto his side, and Mycroft was breathing purely in gasps and moans as he drew his cock out just a bit. Sherlock gasped at the sensation and grasped the sheets when the cock suddenly sank back into him, hitting squarely against his prostate.

“OH!” He screamed. “Fuck…oh!”

“Sherlock,” Mycroft moaned. “Come on, come on. Yes! _Sherlock_! Yes… _oh!_ ”

Mycroft came inside him for a final time, and when his hips stilled Sherlock was afraid it was over before he could have his turn as well. Pulling out gently, Mycroft gasped.

“Oh _yes_ ,” he moaned. He pressed his cock back in, testing out the slick combination of come and lube. “Yes!”

Sherlock grabbed at his cock, teasing his balls and stroking the shaft until he could feel his own orgasm building.

“Oh!” He gasped again as the first load of come spurted from his cock. _“Oh!”_

His release coated his shirt and Mycroft’s sheets. The sweaty suit Mycroft was clinging against Sherlock’s back as they both came back down to earth.

“Oh god,” Sherlock whispered as his final load streaked across the sheets. _“Oh god.”_

He couldn’t help but to rub his cock against the sheets, relishing in the last bit of friction before his cock began to soften. Mycroft’s forehead rest against his back, and they trembled in each other’s arms, gasping and panting helplessly.

“Oh god that was good,” Mycroft breathed shakily. “Oh shit.”

“Yeah,” Sherlock whispered.

Eyes closed, he secretly thought to himself that he wasn’t sure what to think about it. They were sticky and sweaty and smelled. Their hair was disheveled, and half their clothes were still on their body, but the raw orgasmic feeling of sex made him feel a bit on top of the world. He breathed heavily, trying to wrap his mind around it all.

“Yeah, it was good,” he panted.

He would keep reassuring Mycroft this all night as they lay there, in awe of what they did.

But he would never admit to Mycroft that it was his first time.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on a whim today just to see what people thought of the idea. So...what do you think???
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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